Please Don't Call Me Puddin
by TwiLyght Sans Sparkles
Summary: What should I call you then?" Bruce considered that. "What's the opposite of pudding?" he asked. "Crabcakes?" Harley frowned, then looked up at Bruce with a shy smile. "Yeah, not crabcakes. I'll think of something else."
1. Chapter 1

_I don't know how odd/rare this pairing is, but I'm assuming it's not totally common. And if it isn't, who cares? This is just a random idea that I've been toying around with for the past few days, so let me know if you like it. _

* * *

Bruce Wayne's shoes went _slap-slap-slap_ as he walked along the hall. Plain white tile with black-grey streaks, typical of state- and city-run buildings. Silent, too, like a school hallway between classes or just before lunch. Before lunch was more accurate; it seemed to him that there was a tense expectation in the air, as though he could sense several hundred prisoners all planning their escape.

But it wasn't those prisoners he had come to see. Today, he was interested in only one.

Bruce stopped outside the director's office and straightened his tie, then let himself in. An older secretary with short, curly light brown hair looked up as she heard the door open.

"May I help you?"

"Yes." He rested an arm on the counter and looked her in the eye. "I'm here to see the director, Henry Arkham."

"Uh huh. And do you have an appointment?"

"My name is Bruce Wayne."

"Oh! He's right in there, Mr. Wayne."

"Thanks." Bruce stepped past her, knowing no appointment was necessary. Not for their wealthiest benefactor. He reached the office and leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. "Hello, Mr. Arkham."

Henry Arkham, a tall, red-haired man in his mid-forties, looked up in surprise. "Mr. Wayne! What are you doing here?"

He smiled. "Just wanted to see how my money is doing, that's all."

"It's doing fine, as you can see." His gesture indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Close the door and have a seat."

Bruce did, sinking into the red-cushioned chair with a sigh.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?"

"Coffee would be nice." Gallons of it, after last night. Henry left for a moment and came back with two steaming mugs of coffee. Bruce accepted his mug and sat back. "I heard you captured Harley Quinn last night."

Henry sipped gingerly. "Batman did most of the work, but yes. More accurately, Batman brought her here after she all but begged him to."

Bruce raised a brow, playing the part of clueless billionaire to the hilt. "Begged?"

"Yes. Begged." He shook his head in amazement. "She spent most of the night sobbing and thanking us for taking her in. Said 'Puddin' was going to kill her, and this was the only place he'd never look."

"From what I hear, the Joker would peg this as the first place she'd run. Though why he'd willingly set foot in here is beyond me."

Henry set his mug on the desk. "That was her way of thinking, I'm sure." He stood and paced. "None of it makes sense, Bruce. None at all."

Bruce stood as well. "I'd like to see her, if I may."

Henry looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"I'd like to see how my money's doing."

* * *

She was awake when Bruce peered through the window in her door. Awake and huddled in a corner, head down, blonde hair hiding her face. The Harley Bruce knew would've been on her feet doing handsprings or calling knock-knock jokes through the door by now.

"Any idea what happened?"

"No, but we have our suspicions."

"Namely?"

Henry sucked in a breath. "Amy--one of our new psychiatrists--thinks she might be pregnant."

"_Pregnant_?"

"That's what she thinks. Amy talked to her last night. Nothing much made sense, she said, but she put all the pieces together and said it's the most logical explanation." He smiled faintly. "I can't see the Joker getting excited about that kind of news, can you?"

"No. Not at all. So he kicked her out, is that the story?"

"Again, it's the most logical explanation. We're going to do a...uh...test today and see if it's the case."

Bruce nodded, thanked him, and asked another question, continuing the line of 'billionaire playboy here on business.' But his mind kept straying back to Harley, huddled in a corner. He remembered her words after he had captured her and taken her to the Asylum.

_"Thank you," _she had said, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing until he almost choked. She had clung to him, sobbing and thanking him until, uncomfortable, he had pushed her away and retreated into the night.

Harley Quinn.

The Joker's henchgirl.

Pregnant.

Bruce didn't want it to make sense. He didn't want the puzzle pieces to form that particular picture, but they did.

Harley Quinn was pregnant and safe in Arkham Asylum.

Funny. He had never thought of an asylum as a safe haven.


	2. Chapter 2

Amy Nicholson stopped to smooth her brown hair back and take a deep breath before unlocking the door. Inside, Harley sat in the same corner; she'd hardly left it in the past day and a half. She looked up when Amy entered, and Amy smiled pleasantly, preparing for fireworks.

"Well, the test came back positive. You're definitely pregnant."

At that, Harley burst into tears. Amy set her clipboard on the floor and crossed the room, then knelt down and put her arms around Harley. She surprised Amy by leaning into the embrace, her tears soaking Amy's denim jacket.

"Hey...hey....it's okay. It'll be fine."

"No...no it won't...."

Amy pulled back and looked at her, brushing strands of blonde hair from her face as though they were old friends. "Sure it will. You're safe here, aren't you?"

Harley shook her head. "No...it won't..." She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Grimacing, Amy shifted her weight enough to pull a small packet of Kleenex out of her pocket. She scooted back and sat cross-legged as Harley blew her nose and wiped her eyes. "Puddin's not happy about it. He wasn't happy when I told him I thought I might be, and now...." She burst into tears again.

Amy drew a deep breath, praying for wisdom. The twisted love story of Harley Quinn--formerly Harleen Quinzel--and the Joker was something of a legend here in Arkham Asylum. More of a campfire story, actually; the kind the more seasoned psychiatrists passed around at lunch in hopes of earning a shudder or two from the new recruits. Amy's stomach still churned thinking about it. With the results sitting in front of her, drenching Kleenex after Kleenex, Amy knew it wasn't just the older doctor's graphic telling that had shocked her so.

When the tears quieted some, Amy gently touched the other woman's knee. "You want this baby, don't you."

Harley sniffed again. "I...I dunno...Mistah J doesn't."

Amy fought to keep her voice calm. "Don't think about the Joker right now, okay? Think about you, about the baby. But you ran away, didn't you? You came to an insane asylum, for pete's sake. I think that tells me you and Mr. J don't want the same thing, right?"

Harley said nothing, looking at the floor, hiccupping once or twice. "Harley, look at me." She looked up. "Do you want to keep this baby?"

She hesitated, biting a knuckle, then nodded slowly.

"Do you? Are you sure?"

She nodded faster. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Amy smiled. Harley may be a mess, but at least she was on the right track. "Okay then. We'll help you. We _want _to help you, but you have to let us, okay? You'll have to trust us that we know what we're doing. Can you do that?"

Another nod. "I'll....I'll do whatever I gotta. For the kid, I mean."

Her smile reached her eyes. "You're on the right track, Harley." She considered calling her Harleen but thought better of it. After she earned her trust, maybe. Amy uncrossed her legs and stood, waving the Kleenex packet away. "Keep it. I'll talk to my supervisor and then I'll be back."

She closed the door quietly and locked it. An idea was forming.

* * *

The first supervisor Amy met with called over a guard, who called the chief psychiatrist, who grabbed Amy's wrist and pulled her into Henry Arkham's office. The director looked up as the door slammed behind them.

"James! Amy! What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Amy pried her arm free and resisted the urge to glare at the older doctor. "I just had an idea and Dr. Bell thought you should hear it."

Dr. Bell returned the favor with a blistering stare. "Before the others hear it and lock her up is what she means."

Henry folded his hands and looked at them. "And what would this idea _be_?"

Amy inhaled and drew herself up a little straighter. "I think Harley's recovery would be aided by a different setting."

"And what might that setting be?"

"My home could be easily secured, and with electronic surveillance, you'd know what she was doing at any given moment."

The office was uncomfortably silent for a long moment. The secretary's keys were mysteriously and ominously silent, which meant she must be listening in. Amy stole a glance at Dr. Bell; he looked triumphant. Henry's brows had shot right up into his hairline.

"Dr. Bell, would you leave us alone for a minute?" Once he was out of the room, Henry exhaled. "That would be quite expensive, Mrs. Nicholson."

Amy's stomach dropped. Henry calling his psychiatrists by anything but their first names was never a good sign. Maybe she should have thought about how she'd break the news through a little better, or waited a day or two. But she had dug this hole and now she had to climb out of it. "Would it really cost any more than it would to keep her here?"

"Not much, but...." He stood and paced--also a bad sign. "Amy, the Asylum is secure. Harley has said that she came here because it was safe, correct?"

"Yes. But she also said she wanted to get away from the Joker, and the Joker must know where she is by now."

"But this place is secure, and that's the point. It's a place the Joker would never enter willingly, which explains why she would come here."

"Yes, but....Mr. Arkham, she's pregnant."

"I heard the news."

"Would you force any other woman to live in an insane asylum for the duration of her pregnancy?"

Henry put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "This isn't any other woman we're talking about, Amy. This is Harley Quinn."

"An asylum isn't any place to give birth, Henry." She took a step forward. "She _needs_ this. She needs to be treated like something other than the Joker's sidekick."

He lowered his hand and looked at her. "And what if she escapes your house, Amy? What if she decides the only way to earn the Joker's affection is to kill you and your husband in your sleep?"

"I don't think she'll do that."

"Oh?"

"No. She's too broken to do anything but cry right now. Besides, she _wants_ this baby. For once in....I don't know how many years, Harley Quinn wants the opposite of what the Joker wants. That's a step in the right direction."

"Her last one, probably."

"I don't think so. Caring for a child is a big responsibility, Henry. She wants that responsibility. I think it'll be good for her to prepare for that in a more nonthreatening, more domestic setting."

Henry drew a deep breath and rubbed his temples. "I'll think about it." He picked up his phone and hit speed dial. "Let me get a second opinion first."

Sensing she was dismissed, Amy left. She couldn't help smiling as she walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

"She was serious?"

"She seemed serious." Henry sighed and spread his hands. "I just wanted to get your opinion."

Gordon paced the legnth of Henry's office, then threw up his hands. "I don't know. On one hand it sounds like a good idea--get her out of here and into a more stable environment--and on the other...."

"It sounds insane."

Gordon exhaled. "Yeah. Insane. I want to agree with her--Nicholson, is it? I want to think this will work. But I also don't want to see her get hurt, her home destroyed, her sanity torn apart--"

"All of which would be likely with Harley staying there." Henry sighed. "I hear you. But I hear Amy, too, and she's got a point. No one should have to have a kid here."

"What else is there? Harley didn't leave herself many options."

"Maybe she needs us to give her another."

"What she _needs_ is twenty-four hour surveillance."

"Securing a private home is easier than you think."

"You're not agreeing to this, are you?"

Henry spread his hands again. "I don't know who I'm agreeing with. All I know is that you both have very excellent points and I don't know which decision is better. I keep her here, she might never recover. I send her to Amy's, Amy's home might end up a pile of rubble." He raked a hand through his hair and paced the floor. "I don't know, Gordon. I just don't know."

"What's your outpatient policy?"

"Our....oh, that? I don't know. The inmates here don't usually go on field trips," he added in response to Gordon's look. "I'll check it and see what it says." He grabbed a thick black binder and began paging through it.

"Fine. I'll see if I can get ahold of Batman."

Henry looked up from the binder. "Batman?"

"I'm sure he'll have an opinion."

"No, I mean, how are you going to find him?"

Gordon smiled slightly. "Gotham's not the friendliest city on the map. We'll probably see him tonight."

He left Henry to his search.

* * *

True to form, Batman showed up minutes after his signal appeared in Gotham's sky that night. He met Gordon on the usual rooftop, calm and businesslike as ever.

"Just your typical crime spree tonight," Gordon said. "There's a riot down by the waterfront. Probably some connection to the mob, but we wanted to stop it before it got ugly."

"The cops can't handle it?"

"The ones I sent on the drug bust are involved in the riot."

"No sign of the Joker?"

"None."

"Probably still upset about Harley."

"That's our way of thinking." He hesitated, and Batman knew there was something not being said. "Listen, Batman...about Harley..." Batman waited, silent. "Never mind. I'll tell you later."

"Tell me now."

"Fine." He let out a breath. "Her psychiatrist doesn't think the asylum's good for her, her being pregnant and all. She wants to move her."

"Move her _where_?"

"Her home. I know, I know it's crazy, but she thinks it's a good idea. Thinks we can just set up some surveillance cameras and call it good, but we all know what Harley's capable of, and--"

"Just surveillance cameras?"

"Well, no. There would be some other measures taken--tracking devices, silent alarms, that sort of thing, but still. What do you think?"

Batman looked toward the waterfront, then back at Gordon. "I think I need to get down there before someone gets killed."

He nodded. "Of course."

"I'll give you an answer when I get back."

* * *

Routine drug busts and riots didn't require much thought. After several years as Gotham's dark knight, Batman knew the twists and turns the average riot usually took; what to watch out for where danger was concerned; how to single out the key players before things got too bloody. About a minute of watching from a rooftop showed him the fiercest fighters, the ones with the most allies. Like picking out the bully on a school playground, Batman shot a grappling hook at a nearby building and, once it was firmly anchored, swung down into the melee.

Harley Quinn living with her psychiatrist. A bad idea or a good one, depending on its execution. Gordon didn't seem too enthusiastic about it, and Henry probably wasn't thrilled by the idea, either.

He ducked a knife and knocked the man down on his backside, knelt down and twisted his hand until he dropped the knife. He shoved it into his belt to prevent anyone else from using it.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was far easier to escape from a private home than from an insane asylum. And Harley was smarter than the average loon. She would probably find a way around the security system in nothing flat.

Batman spun around, knocking the pistol from one man's hand with a quick elbow to his arm. He picked up the pistol, too, and looked for one of the men he had pegged as a leader.

Then again, she had sought him out and begged to be taken in. _Please, Batman,_ she said, _you gotta take me there. Now, before he sees me! _That didn't sound like a Harley who'd jump on her first chance to escape.

The asylum was still most likely the safest place for her. Difficult to break in, even more difficult to break out. If the Joker knew she was being moved to a private home, she'd be dead or missing before the week was over.

But if he didn't....

Batman almost missed ducking the fist that flew toward his jaw, but blocked it just in time. A real home might be just what Harley needed. It might even help end her clown fetish and teach her how to apply makeup like a normal human being. It would be easier to keep an eye on her if she was living with her therapist, too; he wouldn't need to dress up as Batman or stop by the asylum to "check on his money." Money didn't do much, after all, and there was no point in making Bruce Wayne look too greedy.

The riot was over in under forty minutes. By the time ambulances and squad cars arrived, Batman had reached a decision.


	4. Chapter 4

It's okay, Harl. It's just for the weekends.

Just for the weekends. Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Come on Friday, go back Monday.

"Harley? You coming?"

Harley blinked away her thoughts, wishing she could blink away her uneasiness as well. She unbuckled her seat belt but didn't open the door. Amy smiled at her through the open window.

"You have to get out of the car, Harley."

She didn't want to get out of the car. She wanted to hide in the backseat until the guard drove back to the Asylum. The walls of the little one-story frame house looked as though they would tremble in a harsh wind; how would they stand up to a pipe bomb?

"Come on, Harley. Nobody outside the Asylum or the GCPD knows we're here. You'll be fine."

"The GCPD's full 'a dirty cops," Harley returned, a little harsher than she'd intended.

"True, but all of the ones who know have been instructed to keep a watch on the house. Nobody wants to see you out marauding any more than I want the Joker to drop in for dinner. You'll be fine." Amy opened the door and held it for her. "Come on. Let's go inside."

Harley tried to meet the guard's eyes in the rearview mirror, but he looked away. She was on her own--and there was no staying in the car. Using the overhead handgrip, she pulled herself to her feet and onto the concrete driveway. Amy closed the door and waved to the driver.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Sure." Harley could tell he wasn't any more enthusiastic about the arrangement than she was, but like her, he was bound to whatever decision the director made. She watched the car as it pulled out of the driveway and onto the quiet suburban road.

"Let's go inside and have a look around, shall we?"

Harley nodded mutely. Amy's voice was cheerful, the exaggerated kind people used when they wanted to distract someone or put them at ease. But she was stuck here until Monday, with nothing left to do but hope Amy could keep a secret.

* * *

The house was nice in a boring kind of way--a living room with khaki-colored sofas and pink and yellow flowers on dark wood tables. Harley caught herself thinking how nice a dash or two of purple would look among the carefully coordinated neutral tones before shuddering a little. She didn't want to see anything purple for a long, long time.

Amy gave her a brief tour, pointing out the kitchen, bathrooms and guest room where she would be staying. Peering into the closet, Harley saw several pairs of jeans and T-shirts, along with a few nicer blouses and a skirt. "Thought you'd like some variety in your life," Amy said with a smile, then hurried off to answer the doorbell.

Leaving the closet open, Harley crossed over to the window on the other side of the room. Amy had given her a lovely view of the small backyard, where new green grass had just begun to replace the brown stuff. A small tree was still bare, its naked branches reaching for the sky. The flowerpots and beds were still bare dirt, waiting for someone to realize spring had begun.

"Settling in okay?"

Harley jumped, then glanced back to see Amy framed in the doorway. "Yeah."

"All righty. Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay." She returned to gazing out the window, never once thinking who might have been at the door.

* * *

"I'm ho-ome!" Dick Grayson called above the satisfying _slam_ of the large mahogany door. Bruce appeared at the top of the balcony.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine." Dick began to climb the stairs. "Looks like Harley made it out of the Asylum in one piece. Mrs. Nicholson said she'd just gotten there and was trying to get her settled in."

"Did she say anything else?"

Dick reached the top and paused, running his fingers through his dark hair. "Not really. I guess she was pretty upset when she heard they were moving her."

"Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. The way Mrs. Nicholson made it sound, Harley was just scared."

Bruce nodded. "That's good. It shows she _can_ be turned off by the Joker after all."

"When are you going over there?"

"Tomorrow."

"You going as Batman?"

Bruce shook his head. "She's been scared enough."

* * *

Amy looked up from her magazine as the doorbell rang for the second time in two days. She stood, wondering if it was the nice boy from yesterday, come with the cookies he'd promised to bring. She couldn't hide her surprised when it turned out to be a much taller man holding the plate.

"Hello," he said, shifting the cookies to his left hand and offering his right. "Bruce Wayne."

"Amy Nicholson," she said, recognizing the name of the man who had paid for Harley's move. "But then, I guess you already knew that."

"Henry gave me your name when he told me about the move," he said with a smile. "Dick said he promised to come back with cookies, so I thought I'd make sure he kept his word."

"Where is he?" Amy asked, looking past him as she took the cookies.

"Home, watching TV. I just thought I'd spare him the interruption and drop by myself."

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Wayne....Darrell! We've got company!"

Bruce backed up a step. "No, I really can't stay. I--"

"No, no, come on in. You're here, so you might as well meet my husband, if I can find him....Darrell!"

Amy heard water being shut off, followed by a loud "What?"

"Never mind!" She turned back to Bruce. "Sorry. Saturdays get off to a slow start around here."

"I understand."

Amy was sure he did. His exploits had become a staple of Gotham's tabloids--and the backup topic of gossip at the Asylum. Nothing else to talk about? Well, Bruce Wayne met another girl the other night....

But Amy didn't dare mention that. Commenting on a wealthy benefactor's less-than-honorable social life wasn't only a poor business model, it was just plain stupid. "I didn't know you lived so close."

"Neither was I, until I checked the map in the phone book. Turns out we're just a mile or so apart."

"Interesting." She shifted the cookies to her other hand. "Well, thanks for stopping by."

"No problem. I just--"

He stopped abruptly, staring at something behind her. Amy glanced back and saw Harley peeking around the corner, blue eyes wide. "Oh, hey there, Harley."

"Who's that?"

"Hm? Oh, this is Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises. His donations have helped keep Arkham Asylum afloat these past couple years."

"Speaking of which, I should probably get going. I left some weekend paperwork behind when I came here, so...."

"All right. Thanks for stopping by." She closed the door behind him, then leaned against it. Harley came closer.

"He knew I was here?"

"He's one of the Asylum's biggest benefactors. I guess Henry thought he'd like to know." Straightening, she carried the plate into the kitchen and removed the foil. "He brought cookies. Want one?"

For the first time in days, Harley brightened. "I love sugar cookies!"

Amy smiled. "Help yourself, then." She took a cookie from the plate, making a mental note to talk to Henry about Bruce Wayne come Monday morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce hefted the barbell into the air, then brought it back down with a mighty exhale. Sweat poured down his face and soaked his shirt, and he welcomed the burning in his muscles. Just one more set to go.

For the tenth time, his mind wandered back to yesterday's encounter. It hadn't been anything like their usual encounters, the biggest difference being that Harley was dressed like a normal human being. Her blonde hair had been loose and slightly disheveled, as though she had just let it out of a ponytail and combed it with her fingers; her blue eyes were so wide he could see the color from where he stood.

She'd looked like a frightened child.

Bruce lifted the barbell with a little more force than he'd intended, grunting with the effort. Of _course_ she was frightened; her lover had tried to kill her. Probably hadn't been the first time, but frightening all the same.

That was the most troubling part, Bruce thought as he lowered the weights. The Joker had tried to kill her before, for less than an unplanned pregnancy--and she'd forgiven him for it. Everything went back to normal, and their exploits had meant more messes for Batman to clean up. More sleepless nights, more terrified citizens, more collateral damage....and more bad press for both Bruce Wayne and Batman.

Bruce set the barbell back in its place above his head and sat up. He took a long drink from his water bottle and wiped his sweat with a towel, then tossed it aside. If Harley was going to leave the Joker for good, she'd need a good reason.

* * *

Henry cringed when a knock sounded at his door. His "Come in" was weary and full of suspicion.

"Mr. Wayne is here to see you," his secretary said.

Exhaling, he managed a nod. He gestured to a chair when Bruce appeared a moment later.

"Hello."

"Morning Henry." Bruce sat down casually, as though he were an old friend dropping by for a visit.

Henry leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "I guess you got my message."

"Yeah. Though I still don't understand what all the fuss is about."

Henry drew in a breath, biting back a sharp retort. "The fuss, Mr. Wayne, is about you possibly compromising Harley's safety."

Bruce laughed. "I hardly think bringing her psychiatrist a plate of cookies will 'compromise her safety.' You make it sound like some sort of spy thing."

"As far as I'm concerned, this _is_ some sort of 'spy thing.'" He leaned forward again, speaking slowly and carefully, as if to a small child. "If the Joker finds out where she is, it would be a disaster."

"He won't find out," Bruce said. "It's not like I'll tell him or anything."

"If you keep showing up at Dr. Nicholson's house, you will."

Bruce gave him a you-can't-be-serious look. "You're telling me I'll give away her position by taking cookies to her."

"Have you ever taken cookies to any of your other neighbors?" Bruce sat back as though stunned, and Henry leveled his gaze. "I didn't think so. Neighbors see things, Bruce. Word will get around."

"Well...."

"Well, what?"

"What if....what if I did the same for everyone else? Would that throw him off?"

Henry blinked several times. "I...I suppose so...."

"All righty then." Bruce stood and pushed his chair in. "That's what I'll do. See you 'round, Henry."

Henry sat there for several long moments after the door slammed shut, then slowly shook his head. That Bruce was an odd one.

* * *

Bruce held the recipe book open with one hand while the other stirred the dough. Sugar, butter and eggs blended with flour and chocolate chips as Bruce checked and rechecked the recipe.

"I still don't see why you wouldn't let me just _buy_ the cookies, Alfred," Bruce said as he measured vanilla.

"You made the cookies for Miss Quinn--or rather, you had _me_ make them. Buying cookies for the other neighbors would seem a bit rude, wouldn't you say?"

"They wouldn't know."

"Oh, they'd know you bought them." Dick pulled a tray out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. "Believe me, there's a difference."

"I mean, they wouldn't know the first batch was homemade. If nobody knows Harley's with the Nicholsons, why would Amy tell her neighbors about the cookies?" Bruce glanced at the recipe, swore under his breath, and searched the cupboard for baking soda.

With a sigh, Alfred took the baking soda from Bruce and stirred it in, then passed the bowl back. "You really must read the recipe first, Master Bruce."

"Yeah," Dick said, scraping the first batch off the tray. "These look a little flat." He poked one with the spatula. "You put the eggs in, right?"

Bruce slapped his forehead, swearing again. Alfred looked at Dick in amusement.

"I do believe this is the first time baking day has induced such vehement profanity in a person."

* * *

There was a stirring in Amy's neighborhood on Tuesday evening. Four of her neighbors, all on her block, had recieved a visit from Bruce Wayne. None of them were very long--usually, just long enough for mutual introductions and an apology for being somewhat aloof all these years--but on each visit, he left a plate of homemade cookies.

"You think he's got cancer or something?" Michelle Thomason asked her over the fence that separated their backyards.

"I seriously doubt_ that_," Amy said. "Maybe he's just trying to be a better person."

"I don't know," Michelle said doubtfully. "He's never done this before. He's always just sat up there on that hill, running his company and sleeping with any two-legged female who crosses his path."

Amy chuckled at her neighbor's description of the billionaire. "I don't know," she said again, though she had a hunch. Bruce Wayne was covering his tracks--and startling half the neighborhood while he was at it.

Then again, she thought, maybe that was just his style.


	6. Chapter 6

The next week seemed to fly by and creep along, sometimes simultaneously. One minute Harley was wondering where the time went; the next, she was watching the clock, willing the second hand to move faster. Amy visited her every morning and afternoon for counseling sessions, though all she really did was listen.

"It's sort of my job, Harley," she said when Harley said she felt bad. "You tell me what you feel like you need to, and I listen. It's what I do."

Harley nodded, clutching her arms around her middle. "Feels weird, you know? I mean, pretty soon there's gonna be a baby here."

Amy smiled. "There already is, Harl."

"No, I mean...I'll be able to feel it kick and everything." She gave a short laugh. "Dunno how I feel about that yet."

Amy scribbled on her clipboard. "Do you feel more happy or sad about it?"

Harley paused, looking at the floor. "Both, I guess. I mean, I love babies. Always have. They're so cute and...and..." Tears sprang to her eyes as she worded her next thought. "And Mistah J doesn't want one." She jumped when she felt Amy's hand on her arm. Looking up, she saw compassion in her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. I know it's hard." Amy sat down on the bed next to her and stroked her hair. "But you're making the right choice. Mr. J doesn't know what he's missing out on."

* * *

On Saturday morning, Harley was up early. No alarm clock woke her, but a sense of anticipation made her crawl out of bed and into the shower. She left the door unlocked, which made her a tad uneasy, but if Amy said no locked doors, she didn't have much of a choice.

Harley washed her hair with a shampoo that smelled like mint, dried it with a towel-no hairdryers, either-and combed it out until it fell around her shoulders in smooth blonde waves. She pulled on a dark blue blouse and denim skirt. Satisfied she looked presentable, she opened the door to the world. Amy was waiting outside. She smiled when she saw Harley.

"You look nice. Special occasion?"

Harley shook her head. "Nah. I just felt like dressin' up." She slipped past her into the hallway, hoping there weren't any more questions. She exhaled in relief when she heard the bathroom door click shut and the water start running a minute later.

"Harley! You're up early."

She jumped. Darrel had materialized out of nowhere, suddenly blocking her path. "Uh, yeah. Just thought I'd get up early for a change." With a sheepish grin, she slipped past him. He let her go. She felt his eyes on her as she went into the living room. Probably making sure she didn't try to escape, she thought. To prove him wrong, she plopped down on the sofa, grabbed the remote and began flicking through channels. Nothing much seemed to catch her attention. Her mind was a million miles away, and she knew it.

Harley had just cycled through the channels for the third time when the doorbell rang. Her heart leapt into her throat as she leapt from the sofa and raced to the door. Heart pounding, she threw it open.

Bruce Wayne. Just as she suspected.

She swallowed. Her heart beat a drum solo.

"H-hi there."

* * *

Bruce didn't expect Harley to open the door. Amy again, sure, or maybe her husband. Even if Harley was allowed to answer the door, she had seemed too frightened at his last visit to open a can of tuna, much less the front door. Yet here she was, dressed in a dark blue blouse and denim skirt, holding the doorknob. Her blonde hair was loose, still a little damp, but a very nice color all the same. The realization surprised him.

Harley Quinn looked normal.

"I, ah, I brought this for you." He shifted the small white teddy bear to his right hand and held it out to her. "I heard the news and thought this would be appropriate."

She accepted the bear the way a child accepts a gift from an unknown relative. She held it warily at first, then hugged it close with one arm. "Thanks."

"No problem." He touched the back of his neck self-conciously, knowing it was rude to stare. He still couldn't take his eyes off of her.

* * *

Harley wasn't sure what to expect when she saw Bruce at the door, but the instant she saw the teddy bear, she knew it was for her. She wasn't sure how or why, but she _knew_. Not that it made it any less awkward when she accepted it, or gave her the words to say when he handed it to her. All she knew was that a handsome stranger who had funded her stay in Arkham was on her therapist's front porch, handing her a teddy bear.

"I...ah..." She broke off, laughing because she had nothing else to say. "It's cute."

"I thought so."

"Yeah." She kept standing there, looking at him because he was looking at her. Blue, his eyes were, and kind. Amy had eyes like that, eyes that made you feel like they weren't just _looking_ at you, but _seeing_ you.

Did he like what he saw?

She wasn't sure.

A throat cleared behind her, and Darrel stepped forward. How long had he been standing there? "Yes, thank you, Mr. Wayne. It's very thoughtful of you to stop by." Bruce nodded.

"I'd, uh, I'd better get going. Pleasure meeting you, Harley." With that, he turned and stepped off the porch. Darrel raised his hand in farewell, then closed the door. He looked at Harley.

"Maybe Amy and I should get the door from now on."

Still clutching the teddy bear, Harley nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry this chapter took so long, everyone. I kind of lost my plot bunny, switched fandoms, realized I wasn't a fan of the other fandom, and switched back. (Yes, I am rather indecisive.) Hopefully, I'll get to the end of this story before my plot bunny gets bored again. :)_

* * *

Stakeouts at the local insane asylum had become, in recent years, a weekly routine. Even though Henry and the entire Gotham City Police Department swore up and down that it was secure, Batman knew better. Once a week, if not more often, he'd park the Batmobile at the bottom of the hill and spend the next half-hour or so with a pair of binoculars, watching for suspicious activity. Usually, that meant someone breaking _out_.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. This was Gotham City, after all; ordinary had never been enough for her. Extraordinary homelessness, extraordinary crime rates, extraordinary poverty. No need for average, run-of-the-mill nutcases; Arkham Asylum's inmates will make the average schizophrenic look positively sane.

Batman lowered the binoculars and studied the asylum from the full distance. If he squinted just right and didn't look too close, it almost passed for the stately manor house it once was. But that was only if he tried. A visitor to Gotham would know it housed something sinister, even if they had missed the sign at the bottom of the hill and the words ARKHAM ASYLUM twisted into the wrought-iron fence.

He raised his binoculars again and swept the yard, switching his vision to infrared. There, by the south wall, a lone figure made its way over the grounds.

Leaving the Batmobile behind, Batman darted up the hill on foot, crouching as low as he could. The asylum was positioned so no one could approach without being seen, but he had his tricks.

Once he was within range, Batman shot a grappling hook toward the roof. The nearly inaudible scrape and clink confirmed it had found a hold; another button pressed, and he was speeding toward the roof. He landed, retracted the grappling hook, and made his way to the south wall. The figure darted around to the east wall just as he came into view.

One more grappling hook took hold; this time Batman swung to the ground and landed directly in front of the figure. The man stopped short, stumbled and fell.

Batman cocked an eyebrow behind his mask. "Enjoying the night, are we?"

* * *

A loud _thunk_ jerked Harley from a sound sleep. She bolted upright, eyes darting around. White walls, tiled floor, vague shapes she recognized as furniture in the dark. No white mask grinning at her from the shadows. No shrill laugh mocking her from the doorway.

Harley sighed. Another nightmare, dead and gone until the next night.

_Thunk. _Low-voiced muttering, soft and indistinct.

She drew the blanket up to her chin as though it could ward off whatever lurked outside her window. Another voice answered the first.

Shaking all over, Harley pushed the covers aside and went to the window. She'd look out, see who it was, and go back to bed. That's all she'd do. Not stay long enough for them to see her, or hear what they wanted. Just long enough to see who was paying her a visit. Scarcely daring to breathe, Harley peeked out.

From her second-story window, Harley saw two figures. Her bird's-eye view gave her an average-looking man, your typical garden variety thug, and a tall figure cloaked in black. His gloved fist held the thug's collar, keeping him at arm's legnth.

Harley sank to the floor, fist shoved in her mouth to hold back a scream. Mistah J had sent a spy, and Batman had tagged along. She didn't know who to fear more.

* * *

Batman gave the thug another shake. "I _said_, what are you doing here?"

"Aw, c'mon, Batsy, you already know..."

"So it _is_ Harley." He pulled him closer, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. "What did the Joker send you for? Surveillance? Or are you just his gopher?"

"I-I just came to watch her! See where she was...that's all! I-I didn't do nothing else!"

Batman stared him down for another minute, then tossed him aside like a dishrag. "Go," he growled.

He'd never seen a chubby man run so fast.

* * *

Harley meant to stay beneath the windowsill, where she could neither see nor be seen. But when the muffled growls and terrified whimpers stopped with a_ thud,_ she dared another peek.

Batman stood alone in the moonlight, watching the thug beat a hasty retreat. A soft breeze stirred his cloak, and she saw his fists were clenched.

He'd scared the thug away?

It made sense, in a way. If Mistah J didn't know how to bust her out, Batman wouldn't have to worry about her for a while. One less henchgirl for him to deal with.

But if the Joker was looking for her, could Batman really keep him away?

Harley considered that for a few minutes, but a clear answer eluded her. For as long as she had known the Joker, he and Batman had been at each other's throats. It was like a game, Joker had explained, where the victor was never clear and the rules changed daily. Harley had both observed and participated, and even with her out of the picture, it showed no sign of slowing.

The only difference was that now she was one of the stakes.

The game hadn't stopped with her on the sidelines; if tonight was any indication, it was about to intensify. Joker and Batman, using Gotham as a massive chessboard with her fate in the balance. The thought unnerved her.


	8. Chapter 8

Harley seemed strangely subdued when Amy came the next morning. The way she sat huddled on her bed, clutching the bear Bruce had given her, gave her the appearance of a four-year-old after a nightmare.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked, sitting next to her.

Harley bit her lip. "Can I just stay here for the weekend?"

"Stay here? But why? You like coming over to my place, right?"

She nodded, hugging the bear even closer. Amy touched her arm.

"Did something happen last night?"

Another nod.

"What was it, Harl?" She didn't reply. "Come on, tell me."

Several long minutes passed. "Mistah J," she said at last.

Amy jolted. "He was here?"

Harley shook her head. "No, no...he sent somebody. He-he was right outside- right over there." She crushed the bear to her chest, her voice thick with tears. "Woulda found me if Batman didn't show up."

Amy drew back, stunned. Of course the Joker had sent a scout; it was only a matter of time. That he had found her room so quickly was surprising, but not unexpected. "I'll tell Henry," she said at last. "We'll have you moved to a different room. Maybe one away from the windows? Would that help?"

Harley shrugged.

"Okay, then. In the meantime, I think it'd be best if you left the asylum this weekend."

She looked up at Amy in surprise. "Leave? But...but Mistah J-"

"Already knows where you are," Amy finished for her, "and will probably send someone else before too long. Suppose tonight is the night he breaks in?" She stood. "He doesn't know you leave every weekend, Harley. It would be best if you're not here while we up the security a bit."

* * *

Amy did her best to treat it like an ordinary Friday afternoon drive to her home, but she was nearly as nervous as Harley. Every pothole made her glance through the back windsheild; every odd clank made her reach for the glove compartment; even the soft growl of the engine took on a sinister tone. If Gordon hadn't given her a pistol before she left the asylum, she might have never left at all.

She glanced at Harley in the rearview mirror. Harley had her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window intently, as though she saw goons lurking in every alley.

Amy switched on the turn signal and spun the wheel, lurching onto the next side street. "I'm not going through the city, Harl," she said. "Too many observers. Too many chances."

Harley nodded, staring out the window again. She didn't need to ask what the chances were for, and Amy didn't need to say it. Getting her out of the asylum had been difficult enough, even after Henry had put his two cents in.

"If he's sent one thug, he'll send another. By sending you away, we have an advantage he doesn't expect." Seeing her fear, his voice had gentled. "If you're well away from the asylum, we can spend the weekend tightening security without worrying about that hypothetical chink in the system."

"But what if he sees me leave?"

"He won't," Henry had assured her. "We've taken every precaution to see that he doesn't."

Now, detouring through Gotham's industrial district, Amy wondered if she and Henry were wrong. They had taken precautions, but prevention was never a guarantee. Unpredictability was the Joker's trademark- and precisely what made him deadly.

Maybe I should have left her at Arkham, Amy thought, then shook it away. Her job as Harley's therapist was to cure her, wasn't it? That meant curing her, first and foremost, of the fears Joker had planted in her mind. If nothing happened this weekend, those fears would begin to crack.

And if something _did_ happen...

Amy stole one more glance at Harley, then opened the glove compartment. At the next light, she tossed the pistol onto the passenger seat.

* * *

Darryl was home well before Amy- a rare occurance on a Friday afternoon. Usually she was channel surfing with Harley or starting dinner by the time he pulled into the driveway. This evening, the door was locked and the house silent when he reached it.

"Amy?" he called. "Harley?"

Maybe she was stuck in traffic. Or maybe she had stayed a few more minutes to chat with Henry or one of her coworkers. Yes, that must be it. Darryl propped his feet up on the coffee table and turned on the TV, intending to relax before Amy got home.

Fifteen minutes into the news program, he got up and checked the window. Still no Amy. Probably just nasty traffic. Legendary crime rates weren't the only thing Gotham was famous for.

It wasn't until six PM that he started to fret.

Darryl muted the TV and called the asylum. "Hey, Henry, it's Darryl Nicholson, Amy's husband."

The director's voice took on a note of concern, which he tried to hide with a cheerful tone. "Yes, hello Darryl. What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's six o'clock and Amy isn't here. I know it's probably nothing, but I was just wondering if she'd left the office yet."

"She's not there yet?"

"That's what I said."

Henry swore softly. "She left almost an hour ago."

"I'll call the police."

"No, no, I'll do it. You wait for her- do you have a weapon on you?"

"No, I-" Darryl had been casting furtive glances out the window as he spoke with Henry, and he saw Amy's car pull into the driveway. "Never mind, she just pulled in." He had just pulled the reciever from his ear when Henry told him to wait.

"Make sure it's her," he said.

"What do you...oh." He hadn't even considered that it might be the Joker behind the wheel. "One second. She's getting out...someone's in the back...it's Harley. She's fine. Sorry to bother you, Henry."

Darryl set the phone in its cradle and met Amy at the door. One look and he knew something was wrong. "What is it, Honey?"

Once Harley was inside, she locked the door and pulled him into the hall. "The Joker sent one of his goons to spy on her last night."

"So soon? I thought for sure he'd wait a few more weeks."

"Yeah. So did I, but I guess Harley saw him right outside her window. Batman scared him away, and Henry said they'll spend the weekend tightening security, but still." She exhaled, looking away briefly before back at him. "I skirted around the worst neighborhoods on my way here. Didn't want to take any risks."

Darryl caught her wrist as she started to leave. "Are you okay?"

Again she looked away, thinking before giving an answer. "Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah. I'm fine."


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce took a moment to smooth his hair before ringing the doorbell. The cool early spring breeze made him wish for his suit coat, but he'd left it in the car, parked three blocks away. He smiled as Darryl Nicholson peered out from a crack in the blinds, rolled his eyes and turned away, then wiped his sweating palms on his slacks.

Never in all his years of crime fighting had he felt so nervous.

His instincts screamed against what he was about to do. He knew about last night's scare. He knew the stress Harley must be under right now. And he knew how this would look to her therapist, to Henry, and to the Gotham PD. He knew all this, and here he was pretending like he didn't.

But he had to see her.

It's all right, he told himself. You know what you're doing. Just act like you don't.

A moment's wait, then the door opened just enough for Bruce to see a slender cross-section of Darryl's face, none too happy at the intrusion.

"Is Harley there?"

* * *

Harley cringed at the doorbell's ring, unconciously pressing herself further into the sofa's cushions. Amy patted her thigh and began to stand, but Darryl beat her to the door. Harley kept her eyes on the TV screen, as though by focusing all her attention she could keep the visitor at bay.

"Is Harley there?"

Harley started, whirling round. "Is that-?"

"Bruce Wayne," Amy growled, standing. "I'll take care of it."

"Wait, no! It's..." But Amy was already out of the living room, headed to the front door. Harley huffed in frustration, then jumped down and hurried after.

* * *

Amy planted a hand on her hip, staring Bruce in the eye. She had to tilt her head back to do it, but the effect was worth the effort. "What are you doing here, Bruce?"

"I came to see Harley."

"Now isn't the time."

Bruce gave a small laugh of disbelief. "What do you mean? Is...is something wrong?"

"Look, Bruce. Harley is in danger and your being here isn't helping matters. For all we know, you're the one informing on her."

"To who? The Joker? Look, I've never even _seen_ the guy up close. So if you think I'm informing on the woman whose care I paid for-"

"We're playing it safe. So unless you can prove you're not informing on her, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"What if I can prove it?"

All three spun round. Harley's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but she may as well have shouted for the silence that ensued. Amy was the first to move; she hurried over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Harley? What are you doing out here?"

* * *

Harley looked Amy in the eye. "Bruce isn't with Mistah J."

"How do you know? We can't be too careful, Harley."

Harley nodded. "I know. But he's not with the Joker, either."

Bruce, Darryl and Amy stared at her, waiting for an answer. Harley felt like a chicken roasting beneath their stares, but she wasn't about to let her one sane link to the outside world- the man who had paid to keep her safe, no less- get banned from visiting her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at all three as she spoke.

"Mistah J never wanted Bruce," she said. It seemed funny, talking about Bruce when he was standing right there, but she kept going. "He's too rich, never notice anything that went missing. Got nobody to take from him, either. No fun in that." Harley smiled self-conciously, looking from face to face. Bruce she paused on the longest, trying to discern something, anything from his expression. All she saw was relief.

Amy looked hard at her until she had to look away. "Are you sure?"

"Mistah J hasn't shown up yet, has he?"

Amy said nothing.

"She has a point," Darryl spoke into the silence.

Harley looked up at Amy, who seemed to be thinking it over. After a long minute, she sighed. "Fine. I'll call Henry and see what he thinks. In the meantime..."

Harley held her breath. Let him stay. Let him stay.

"I guess it would look more suspicious if he left right away than if he stayed for a while."

Harley squealed and clapped her hands, caught herself, and covered her mouth with both hands. Her nervous glance told her Bruce was smiling. Not in a superior, leering way, but in gentle, genuine amusement. Then, as quick as it had come, it faded as he turned to more practical matters.

"I parked three blocks away," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Nobody but Dick and Alfred know I'm here. Well, except for you three, of course."

Amy nodded wearily. "Darryl, would you mind calling out for pizza or something? I'm not cooking tonight."

Darryl went in search of a phonebook and Amy dialed Henry's number. Harley and Bruce were alone in the room.

Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets. "So," he said slowly, "how are you?"

"Fine." The amused smile was gone, leaving an awkward silence she couldn't fill. "I'm fine." Suddenly she felt vulnerable, exposed, here in the living room with a man she barely knew. "I'm gonna go...uh...help Darryl, I guess. Sorry."

Bruce nodded. "Go right ahead."

Out of the room, Harley peered through the open door. Bruce sat on the couch, feet on the coffee table. His suit coat was gone. White sleeves covered muscled arms. His face was relaxed, as though he knew he was completely safe in this suburban neighborhood, with all its fragile homes and their occupants. Harley wanted to turn back, to sit beside him until he draped his arm around her shoulder and brought her into the security he enjoyed.

"Harl?"

Harley snapped out of her reverie. "Yeah?"

"Do you want pizza or Chinese?"

"Er...whatever you want is fine."

"Just pick one."

She thought frantically. What did Darryl and Amy like? What did Bruce like? Pizza seemed safest. "Pizza."

"Pizza it is." Darryl went back to the kitchen, and Harley watched Bruce again. But the spell had broken, and she didn't want it to take hold of her again. Sighing to herself, Harley followed Darryl into the kitchen.


	10. Chapter 10

No sooner had Darryl set the pizza boxes on the table than Harley pounced, throwing each box open. When she found the box she wanted, she gave a triumphant laugh and snatched a piece, rolling her eyes in pleasure as the blended flavors of red, green, and yellow peppers, sausage, pepperoni, basil, mushroom and onion hit her tongue.

She turned, freezing mid-bite. Amy, Darryl, and Bruce all fixed her with wide, fish-like stares. Harley swallowed, the hot pizza burning her throat. "Sorry," she said between coughs.

"It's all right," Amy said, seating herself at the table. She handed Harley a plate and poured a glass of water. Harley's cheeks burned as she lowered herself into her seat. This was supposed to be something of a nice dinner—hadn't she guessed as much when Amy brought out the one pitcher that wasn't chipped and the painted glasses? Why they were eating pizza off of the good china was beyond her understanding, but the absurdity made her smile.

Bruce took a seat beside her, and Harley's cheeks warmed. She wanted to scoot her chair away—or, better yet, to find a new one—but decided against it. Running away from the man who was buying her safety seemed like a bad idea.

"Well," Amy said, once Darryl had taken his place beside her. "Let's say grace, shall we?"

* * *

Cheese.

Of all the possible toppings—of the boxes filled with pepperoni and sausage and an entire array of delicious things—Bruce Wayne picked cheese.

Harley watched in amazement as he lifted the hot slice with both hands and gingerly took a bite. He chewed, then turned his gaze right on her. "Something wrong, Harley?"

How could a boring old billionaire make her feel like she was trapped in a sauna? "I…uh….I just didn't peg ya for a cheese person, that's all."

Bruce chuckled. His laugh was the only sound in that dining room, aside from the quiet scraping of forks across Amy's and Darryl's plates. "I'm a purist, I suppose."

Or boring. The words were on the tip of Harley's tongue, but she held them in. Bruce might not know the difference between a friendly joke and a mean one.

Did she?

Harley shook the thought away. She wouldn't think about _him_. Not with Bruce Wayne sitting so close and a slice of delicious pizza in front of her.

"Harley, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Amy. Don't worry."

"It's my job to worry."

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" This time, the question was from Bruce. Harley dared a glance and saw concern in his eyes. Once again, she felt as though she were melting from the inside.

"I...I'm fine." Even to her own ear, it sounded like a lie.

* * *

In his long career serving the Wayne family, Alfred Pennyworth had gained many skills that would be useless in any other setting. Most wealthy employers did not demand their butler know how to repair Kevlar, or how to flush a desperate criminal out of hiding. That battlefield medicine was already a specialty of his was well known to Master Bruce, but no other employer would ever ask him to use that particular skill.

Still, there were a few things that every butler knew. For example, if the employer's young charge sat in the drawing room, periodically pounding his fist against the arm of his recliner as local news played in the background, it was best to simply nod at whatever he had to say.

"I don't get it, Alfred." Dick's fist hit the arm again. "I just don't get it."

Alfred lifted a copy of _Practical Applications of Common Plant Substances _from an end table and dusted beneath it. "Don't understand what, Master Dick?"

"Harley Quinn." He pounded the fabric. "Bruce." Another punch to the chair. "The Joker. It doesn't make sense."

Alfred replaced the book and moved on to the shelf. In cases like this, it was best to ask the questions with obvious answers. Give the boy something to talk about. Perhaps it would put his mind at ease. "Are you referring to his newfound interest in Miss Quinn's welfare?"

Dick gave out a laugh. "I'd hardly say it's _newfound. _I mean….he's never been mean to her, you know?"

"Master Bruce is quite strict when it comes to his rule."

"Well, _yeah_….but it's not even that. It's just….I don't know. He's always been weird around her. Nothing noticeable, not to anyone who didn't know him."

"Are you saying Master Bruce has always been—shall we say—interested in Miss Quinn?"

Dick shrugged, driving his fist into the chair. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can't tell. But still, staying for dinner with her therapist? Sending _me _over with cookies? Does he know who might be watching?"

"The neighbors are wagging their tongues, I'm sure."

"Yeah. And then those neighbors will tell their friends, who will tell their coworkers, who will tell a dozen other people, and before you know it every low-life in Gotham knows about Bruce Wayne's _thing _for a mental patient."

Alfred smiled. "Now, now, Master Dick. Surely you aren't worried about Master Bruce's _reputation_, of all things!"

"Nah. He's spent his whole career ruining it on purpose," Dick said, but there was no smile. "I'm just worried about who'll come after him, once this thing goes public."

* * *

_Sorry if that chapter seemed like filler, but I've GOT to get back on track if I want to make any sort of progress with this story. So I'll try writing a little at a time, and hope that it helps. _


	11. Chapter 11

Harley sensed more than saw it at first—a tension between them, as though the air itself had grown thicker, making it harder to reach him. Soon, details came to her attention. How his eyes always seemed to be on her. The way he stiffened when she stood or reached across the table for another slice of pizza. How he stayed still as a cat, drumming his fingers on the table or his water glass.

Harley's first thought was of the Joker when he slipped into one of his moods. He would remain still for a few seconds or several minutes. The length of time he refrained from moving would tell Harley how frightened she should be: The longer he sat, and the more still he was, the blacker his mood. If he muttered to himself, that was a bad sign. If he stood suddenly or spoke sharply, that was an even worse sign. If he followed her with his eyes the entire time he sat, that was the worst sign of all.

Cold, hard fear coiled in her stomach. She tried to reason it away—tried telling herself that Bruce Wayne wasn't the Joker, he was too rich to be in the Joker's pay, and if he tried anything Amy and Darryl would hold him back—but the fear snapped at those reasons like a cobra. No, Bruce wasn't the Joker, _but what if he was worse? _No, he wasn't in the Joker's pay, _but what if he was keeping her away from the Joker for a reason? _She wasn't sure what that reason might be, but the fear was already pounding at the base of her skull, and she couldn't seem to think clearly.

She glanced down at the partially gnawed slice of pizza in her hand—her fourth—and her stomach turned. Unable to eat another bite, she set it on her plate, picked up the plate, and stood.

"Where are you going, Harl?"

Harley didn't look at her therapist, though she felt her eyes on her. "I'm not hungry anymore," she said, and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

Amy knocked a few seconds later, but Harley leaned against the door to bar her from entry. "I'm fine, Amy. Just need some time to myself."

Her therapist pushed against the door. Harley pushed back. "Harley, what happened?"

"Nothin'." Harley fought tears. "It's….it's nothin'. Just go away."

Amy jiggled the handle—_just making her point, _Harley thought—and then Harley heard her footsteps retreat. Relief flooded her as Amy spoke, her voice muffled: "I'm so sorry about that, Mr. Wayne." She paused, and Harley thought she might have sighed. "Maybe you should go."

Bruce's chair scraped against the tile. "It's quite all right. I need to be leaving, anyway. I have a prior engagement."

"Oh?" There was curiosity in her voice, and she tried to temper it by adding: "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't pry."

Bruce laughed. "Don't worry about it. I was just going to check on hotels for a ski trip I'm planning." His footsteps receded, and the front door opened, closing to a flurry of thanks-for-comings and great-to-meet-yous from Amy and Darryl. A half-whispered discussion ensued, one Harley didn't hear past the door or her own beating heart.

He left.

He just….left.

She had run into the kitchen, and he hadn't stayed to ask why.

Harley knew she should be affronted. "How typical of a man," Ivy would say, hands on her hips, shaking her head in disgust. "He didn't even offer an apology—and it was obviously his fault. It _was_ his fault, wasn't it, Harley?"

"Yeah….sorta," she said to no one. "I mean, maybe, but….I don't know."

She was still sorting it out when Amy knocked again. Harley moved aside, went to her room, and closed the door most of the way, leaving a crack so Amy wouldn't get suspicious.

When the moon rose, she thought she had it figured out. Bruce Wayne had frightened her because, in those moments he looked at her and drummed his fingers and tensed at her slightest movement, he reminded her of the Joker at his angriest.

Well….now that she thought about it, she figured he might have just been nervous. Any billionaire might be around the Joker's harlequin.

Ex. Ex-harlequin. She wasn't going back.

Anyhow, she'd gotten scared because she thought Bruce was about to get scary. So she hid. But instead of taunting her through the door, calling her a coward and asking her what he'd done to deserve such treatment, beating it down when he grew tired of the game, Bruce had given her what she had never received from her Puddin: Privacy. Peace and quiet. Time to hug her knees to her chest and wait for her thoughts to calm.

Harley stood and crossed to her window. The crescent moon smiled at her, and for once, she smiled back.

* * *

Gotham had two neighborhoods.

Politicians and locals would disagree, pointing to Gotham Heights, downtown, the Narrows, Eastern Hills, Dakota Bridge, and others. Those neighborhoods, they maintained, were not only distinct, but some were so different they may as well be foreign countries. The homeless living near or beneath Dakota Bridge envied, but could scarcely fathom, the ornately decorated mansions in Gotham Heights, while the mob bosses and politicians in Gotham Heights shuddered at the thought of spending a night on a substandard mattress.

What neither party seemed to see were the similarities between the areas. The two poles of the city, north and south, acted like poles of a powerful magnet, drawing iron filings toward them. Wayne Manor occupied the north pole; Gotham Heights, the gated Shadows community, and the suburban Eastern Hills had fallen into place beneath it. Meanwhile, the southernmost Dakota Bridge was flanked by the Narrows, which attracted low-income families to low-rent apartments, and West End, nicknamed Dead End for obvious reasons. Two neighborhoods. One varying shades of rich, one varying shades of poor.

Through downtown wasn't the most direct route back to Wayne Manor, but it gave Bruce a chance to scope out the area before nightfall. Thugs on street corners; men in suits standing in tight knots, whispering; women in pencil skirts with holsters barely concealed by neat jackets—to the untrained eye, this would seem an ordinary picture of Gotham at sundown.

Bruce knew better. The thugs in natty tweed jackets on one street corner were less a threat than the men in tailored silk across from them. Given the glances the businessmen were casting at the thugs, Bruce would guess the thugs to be in the pay of the businessmen—or a diversion for whatever the businessmen were whispering about. The woman with the poorly concealed pistol was a detective Bruce had encountered more than once as Batman. Her sharpshooting skills had bought him time one night, maybe even saved his life. Now she left it in plain view to dissuade anyone who might consider her a target. He resisted the urge to salute her as he drove by.

This was the heart of Gotham, where the best and worst beat in equal measure. This was where the two neighborhoods blended almost seamlessly, where businessmen and petty thieves worked for crime lords to buy their kids' braces, where the homeless refused duplicitous offers from rogues to avoid becoming locked into scheme after scheme.

After another traffic light, Bruce began to inch into the wealthier part of town. Decaying brick buildings gave way to shinier skyscrapers, then office buildings planted in renovated houses. Suburbs morphed into mansions, growing larger and larger as he crested the hill that took him home. The dying sunlight reflected off the Manor's windows, making them glow gold.

As he pulled into the driveway, he let his thoughts turn to Harley. He had pushed her to the back of his mind on the way home. Her behavior was too disturbing to contemplate immediately. Now, he brought her to the front.

He hadn't meant to frighten her. He had, for a few moments, simply allowed his nerves to get the better of him. The thought that the shy woman wolfing down piece after piece of pizza topped with God-knows-what had played accomplice to some of Gotham's most heinous crimes proved too powerful to resist. Add to that the fact that his mask—Bruce Wayne—was the only thing that kept Harley from driving a knife into his chest, and…well, who wouldn't be nervous around her?

But now, as he climbed out of his car and locked it, he wondered if he had reason to be nervous at all. All he'd done is drum his fingers, flinch when she made a few sudden movements, and she'd locked herself in the kitchen.

_He _was nervous….and _she _had run away.

Bruce shook his head and let himself into the Manor. Perhaps Harley would need more help than he thought.

"Master Bruce?"

Alfred's voice jolted him from his reverie. He turned, waiting.

"Master Dick is in the Batcave, sir. He said he's waiting for you."

Bruce frowned. The sun hadn't even set. "Why?"

"He said he's spotted something of concern. He recommends the two of you leave to investigate immediately."


End file.
